Timothy's Mentor
by Cezille07
Summary: The ultimately high standard. The strictest Tutor. The drama, the pressure begins for young Timothy. COMPLETE.
1. The Elevator Kid

**Timothy's Mentor**

_Cezille07_

Timothy wasn't always the good Tutor he is today. He started as we all did a long time ago: as a playful child with dreams and (perhaps...bad) friends to keep him company. Too bad for him he had an ultimately high standard to conform with—and the strictest mentor to answer to—as he becomes a full-fledged Tutor.

Disclaimer: ...Let me define a 'disclaimer' for you. It's a refusal to accept responsibility (or ownership of something), a statement renouncing legal right. There. Now, what you happen to see here is an example of a disclaimer for Monster Allergy. ;D

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Chapter 1. The Elevator Kid.

_He can't have just vanished. _

They were there, of course. The sounds of laughter. Talking. The soft thud of feet against the wooden walkways. Walking, walking endlessly. Endlessly. An infinite line of monsters moving towards every direction. And somewhere among them, a young Timothy was hiding from his vexed mentor.

"Tag! You're it!"

"No, I was on base, you can't tag me, you cheater! My dad's gonna get you!"

"Oho, I wasn't cheating, I was—"

Both children stopped at the shadow of Humphrey Roth. Timothy made a cheesy grin and edged out of view of the Tutor.

"Excuse me, children," he cleared his throat and knelt to level with them. "You're the elevator operator's son?" he asked, addressing the young Bombo.

"Er, yes sir," coughed Borombo, throwing his glance to the elevator space, the pulley madly twisting as the elevator rose up beside them.

Humphrey went on, "You wouldn't mind if I take Timothy back to school now, would you?"

"No, sir, of course not," Borombo shrugged. At that moment the elevator stopped moving; an aged Bombo stepped out, instantly yanked his boy into the elevator, and manipulated it into a jerky descent.

Timothy gulped. "Sir," he began. But Humphrey gave his thin arm a firm tug away from the elevator. "Sir," he tried again, and though Humphrey acknowledged this with a disapproving shake of the head, he went on, "I'm sorry for—"

"Sorry?! You ought to be ashamed, you cheeky boy!" Humphrey yelled such that passers-by halted in their tracks to listen. "Escapes! Escapes from the Tutor academy in broad daylight! My _dear_ boy you have no idea what this means to our status! It is mockery! You mock our age-old practice of discipline and authority!"

Bowing his head, Timothy exhaled, "I...am ashamed, sir. I'm very sorry—"

"Then _good_! But for a student of the Tutor Academy, it is _not good enough_. You should know by heart what we do to misbehaving children as yourself, you being one of the most frequently punished of your batch!" And Humphrey grinned when he heard the crowd murmuring.

Timothy looked up at his master. Then at the onlookers. "The p-punishment for...escaping...is...." He swallowed hard. Something was lodged in his throat. "Th-the p-p-punishment—"

"On your knees! NOW!" bellowed Humphrey. "Hands over your head! Look up to the sky! Begin the chant!"

The crowd held its breath. Humphrey reached into his pocket and fished out a small bottle with a fragrant, purple liquid inside. Uncapping it, he let the surrounding monsters take a whiff of the potion. Timothy had assumed the position demanded of him, and he opened his mouth for the soon-to-come dosage of lavender.

"I am a shameful Tutor," Timothy muttered, closing his eyes so as not to see the bottle.

"LOUDER!"

"I am a shameful Tutor!"

"LOUDER, THE CROWD IS DEAF!"

A tear leaked out of Timothy. "I AM A SHAMEFUL, SHAMEFUL TUTOR! I DO NOT DESERVE ANYONE'S KIND NOTICE! IGNORE ME FOREVER, OR UNTIL THE END OF MY SHAME COMES, WHICH WILL NEVER COME!"

Timothy slackened at the end of the chant, but Humphrey delivered a square kick to his chest. "Again!"

Timothy doubled over, but returned to the position. "I AM A SHAMEFUL, SHAMEFUL TUTOR—"

"You're not doing it right! You have to _mean_ it!" his mentor cut him. He forced the bottle of lavender into his mouth until the contents were drained. "Now, say it again!"

Timothy lost voluntary control of his body. He collapsed to the floor, and finally the tears streamed violently out of his eyes. "I ammmm a zzzheemmmmfull..." he gasped.

"Say it right!" the older Tutor ordered impatiently.

"...a shameful Tutor..." he said with some effort.

Then even the effort ran out.

And the light.

And the sounds....


	2. The Roth Tutor

**Timothy's Mentor**

_Cezille07_

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Chapter 2. The Roth Tutor.

The clinic had never looked so _welcoming_ before. It used to represent a place of false recovery, the abandoned sanctuary of his first escape. He was only a little boy then. Escaping for the sake of leaving the boring drone of Jeremy Joth, the Monster Societies teacher and school director, in the classroom.

An orphan boy who couldn't even choose to live as he wanted, he eventually came to see the falseness of whatever a 'clinic' was supposed to be. A place of healing. And his restless soul couldn't find refuge there when he needed to because no one would help him heal anyway. That darned Humprhey, with every lash-like punishment in some random public location, kept taking away the freedom he so yearned for. _Be a good Tutor, or be a shameful one._ The "shameful" chants ended every thread of self-respect he scooped up. Not that seeing the ghosts of his parents would be comforting. But it was as if he were glued to responsibility, trapped with an over-strict mentor, whose eyes were always on the gleaming prize. And, no, that prize wasn't for Timothy.

He didn't even _want_ to be a Tutor in the first place. No one ever asked _him_....

"Timothy?"

That voice always sent chills down his spine. As Humphrey's head appeared in the doorway, Timothy closed his swollen eyes and feigned a regular snore.

"Timothy, I know you're awake," Humphrey said. He came into the room and sat beside Timothy on the cold, metal bed. "I wanted to talk to you."

_Bah! Like you need to ask my permission! You always get away with what you want! _It was a good thing Tutors can't read minds...or can they?

He didn't move.

"I..." Humphrey began. Timothy waited for a while, snored a little, but nothing followed. A new sort of discomfort tensed both of them, and before long, Humphrey rose to leave.

_Phew!_

"Timothy, I—"

They eyed each other, surprised at the other's sudden move. Timothy had wiped his brow with the bed sheet, and Humphrey was on the verge of exploding with paternity.

But what surprised Timothy more was that Humphrey fell to his knees, raised his hands to his head and his eyes to heaven, and began shouting at the top of his voice, "I AM A SHAMEFUL, SHAMEFUL TUTOR. I DO NOT DESERVE YOUR KIND FORGIVENESS. IGNORE ME FOREVER, OR UNTIL THE END OF MY SHAME COMES, WHICH WILL NEVER COME."

Timothy continued to stare, transfixed at his mentor's words. But they could simply be words. How can the shame of a hundred spiritual lashes be erased by a private apology? He rolled to his side and pulled the blanket over his head, almost certain the proud footsteps would carry his mentor away.

"Please leave me alone," he whispered.

"I can't do that, Timothy," Humphrey said, approaching once more. "You didn't ignore me. Then I am forgiven."

_That was so stupid of me! _

His mentor sighed. "Timothy, if I can't be a friend to you..." he uttered slowly, "I will at least always treat you as a son. You lost your parents; they should be the ones helping you heal now, helping you find your true self. But they aren't here. I am." He paused, sensing a reluctance to listen from the boy.

"The day they assigned me to take care of you," he went on, trying to take Timothy's still small hands, "it wasn't because you just needed a place to stay or food to go by. I know, like they knew, that you will become a great Tutor someday. I never wished to be so harsh on you, but I had expected so much. You shall learn or you shall not learn, and in the process both shame yourself and die. You _have_ to be strong, be the epitome of justice and knowledge, a beacon of hope if you must! Because you are a Tutor, not a schoolboy needing lashes. You are old now, Timothy, a hundred years old. And still playing with friends you meet, running away from boring classes. I know how boring Jeremy is when I sit in to evaluate him. But you have so much to learn! Shall I leave you to wither away? I can but see the little sprout within you, my dear boy. You shall be such a beautiful tree if you water the roots."

Timothy didn't respond. _Calling me your 'dear boy' doesn't help. And I never get your stupid analogies. _

"Timothy, I can hear you. Don't you know Tutors _can_ read minds?" Humphrey successfully hid his sigh with a smile. "Timothy, I want to teach you everything there is to know. I want you to wonder at the complex system we monsters have. And you will be so much more after this. _So_ much more. I believe in you—"

"And I feel stupid for trying!" he finally blurted out. He sat up and yelled, "I always thought you were a great guy! If you didn't drug me with lavender all the time I might actually 'respect' you!"

"If you didn't always flee my presence, I might actually be nicer to you," his mentor laughed.

"It's a miracle if you can be nice at all!" Timothy returned, but covered his mouth afterwards.

But Humphry only grinned. "Then forgive me." His hand procured a bottle with familiar purple contents from within his cloak. He uncapped it once more, with Timothy flinching in his place. "Cheers," he said before trying to tip the contents into his own mouth. Timothy had cried, "Sir, NO!" and lunged himself at the bottle. They both found themselves on the floor, the lavender potion spilled all over Timothy's clothes, and both of them laughing over it like a joke.


	3. One Day Soon

**Timothy's Mentor**

_Cezille07_

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Chapter 3. One Day...Soon.

"Jeremy—"

"That's 'Director' Jeremy to you."

"_Director_ Jeremy, un-checked. Notebook and pencils, un-checked. Student, check. Tutor, check," Timothy counted with his fingers. "Sir, precisely why are we out here in your Pod?"

"Precisely because of _director_ Jeremy, my dear boy." Humphrey gave a little wink as he took down a book from a large, oak shelf on one side of the living room. He handed this to Timothy, who was sitting enthusiastically on the couch, and sat next to his student. "I thought this lesson would be better taught outside of the Academy. This is a special lesson and...you _are_ a special student."

"Sir, I don't understand why you keep telling me I'm special," remarked Timothy. "You also say I'm the most frequently punished in my batch, that I escape as much as I breathe."

"Don't worry, I know you won't escape today," Humphrey winked again. "Look at this book. Can you guess how old it is?"

Timothy looked at the dusty leather cover, feared touching it for a moment, then decided it was best to leave it on his lap where Humphrey placed it. It might disintegrate if he turned one page. "I don't know, sir."

"A guess doesn't have to be right."

"A thousand years or so?"

"That times a hundred more, my dear boy. The Dom is a very, very ancient art. And this book happens to be concrete proof of it! This book documents many details about Tamers and life in Poddum-ska, which you will one day master, when you are a Tutor in a Detention Oasis, perhaps." Humphrey took the book, blew off some dust on the top (so the title, "The Monster Tamer's Handbook", was visible for the first time), and opened it to a blank page after the cover. A list of names and dates greeted them, most of them barely readable except for Humphrey's name in crooked lettering. "This book was given to me by my mentor, when I was a little over your age. But you merit this now, thus I bequeath it to you. Timothy, the world of monsters is yours to conquer. For a while we shall traverse it together, me teaching you what I must, and thereafter you shall take it upon yourself to learn more and pass on this ageless tradition to your own students."

Humphrey handed him the book. Timothy had not moved. "Take it."

"Sir, I...I don't think I deserve this yet," he stammered. "Not yet," he repeated.

"Which is precisely why I am giving it to you; see, this is what I love about you," chuckled his mentor, observing how he blushed. "Timothy, this is the only lesson I'll be able to teach you. Everything else will come easily from the book—or Jeremy, if you ever choose to listen in his classes one day."

Timothy gave another cheesy grin and finally accepted the book without saying a word.

"Has it ever occurred to you that only five more years of Tutor studies is left for you, and you will be assigned a delinquent bunch of monsters in some Oasis to watch over and educate?" Humphrey asked.

Timothy shook his head. His mentor was right. He had been studying for a long while now, and graduation was looming fairly close by, threatening no awards and no diploma due to his irresponsibility. "Will I graduate, sir?"

"Of course, my dear boy," smiled Humphrey. "You see, it's not so much what the teachers force into your head—although they count very much in the exams, which are indeed the measure of what you learned. It's more the values you pick up from persevering as a Tutor, or Tamer, or elevator operator. Whatever you are, if you do your job well, you merit trust and respect in your field. And they are more important than the number we will give you on Commencement day."

This seemed to enlighten Timothy, so Humphrey went on, "Those values are innumerable, manifesting in each individual in different ways. Monsters-ska give it one name, victory. Our good society has quite a simple code for it."

"Is that the Three Golden Virtues I keep hearing about?" Timothy asked.

"At least your ears pick up well. And yes, it is: Honesty, Bravery, Duty," Humphrey paused. "Need I elaborate on each one?"

Timothy shook his head, a guilty choke incapacitating his voice box momentarily. Honesty—the secret escapades, the stolen lunches from the Academy cafeteria, his little crush on that girl Tutor in the next class (what was her name, Larraby, was it?). Bravery—his first reaction on seeing Humphrey earlier was to hide behind Borombo, his equally cowardly friend. Duty—what, was it serious, that he would be a "great" Tutor as his mentor says?

The door burst open before either of them could say anything. In came Jeremy, hot and panting, with the words, "By a jillion Gingi, he's with _you_!"

Humphrey and Timothy merely exchanged curious, almost comical glances. _Who is the 'he' and who is the 'you'?_

Jeremy gave an exasperated sigh. "You, Tutor Humphrey Roth, Head of the local Council of Bibbur-si, instead of being at the Academy, are throwing your time away with _this_ hopeless case!" he said, an accusing finger half-hidden under his cloak but pointing directly at Timothy.

Humphrey waved this off, "And you, Director Jeremy, are looking for me, the time-squanderer, for quite a particular reason, aren't you?"

"Why else?! Yes! There's been another Tamer case today," he panted, looking grave.

Humphrey's smile vanished, and Timothy was left wondering what that could mean.

"I ought to go now, my dear boy. I'm inviting you to this year's Commencement at the Academy Hall tomorrow. I'll see you then," Humphrey excused himself, that warmth briefly painting his face before he slipped away with Jeremy.

"But wait, sir!" called Timothy. His mentor paused, waved a little, but went on his way.

_...What was that lesson you were going to teach me?_

Timothy shook his head and sighed. He returned to the couch and reopened the Monster Tamer's Manual on the page with the list of owners. The dates spanned hundreds of thousands of years of Tutor-student ties, each marked by a short scribble with hurried, probably excited writing.

He located a pen on the nearest table and posed to write his own name, feeling the same rush of eagerness the past students must have felt as they included themselves in the proud line of would-be great Tutors. Perhaps this was what his own mentor felt like as a boy. _Now look where Sir Humphrey is_, he thought.

_That was the lesson. _

And for some reason, he finally believed it will come true. One day soon.

"T...I...M...O...T...H...Y. 94 years, 7th sun cycle."


	4. Not a Night for Play

**Timothy's Mentor**

_Cezille07_

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Chapter 4. Not a Night for Play.

It just wasn't like him to sit still.

Or lie still in bed. Waiting for sleep to settle.

No, he had to move.

Break out.

"Borombo!" he whispered through the window, half an hour later and six major Pods away. "Borombo, are you in there?"

No one was home. He whistled as he found his way to their playing spot, next to the elevator down to Bibbur-ska, or what the humans call Big Burg. He peered down at the long fall anyone would take in an accident. He gulped. He definitely didn't want to go down that way.

Then the pulleys twisted madly again. It was midnight. The last elevator trip of the day. Several blob-like figures occupied that tiny square of wood ascending toward him. Finally, Borombo and his father stepped out with a yawn. They started at the sight of Timothy waiting for them.

"Bursties, Timothy! What are you doing here, at this time of the night?" Borombo fired. "Didn't your idiot mentor just give you the public treatment again? I thought you'd be sulking at the Academy, doing lines or something! Lines! 'I'm a shameful, shameful Tutor!' Haha!"

"That's not why I came here, Borombo. Look at this!" And Timothy proudly brandished the Monster Tamer's Manual. "Sir Humphrey gave it to me! I've been reading it all day—"

"What?! Like, man, you've gotta be kidding me! Looks like the old bloke's gotten into your head, huh? Dude, how many days have you been cursing under your breath at the first time he humiliated you like that? I don't get why suddenly you're not wishing he'd fall off the walkway and die! Haha!" laughed Borombo. His father rolled his eyes and herded his son back home. "It's late, son," he said. Borombo whined and trudged away from Timothy, smirking.

"Hmph," groaned Timothy. _The_ _one thing I wish weren't true about Bombos is that they're so stupid!_ _If I know, you don't want to be like your father. You want to hang with me for the rest of your life, playing games, drinking when we're old enough to drink legally. But I grew out of that dream already. I'll be...a teacher. A Tutor. A hero in at least one boy's eyes...someday—_

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The sound made him spin and twist his legs. He fell into a crumpled heap, and a piece of the canopy overhead toppled onto him. From under that mess, he saw a 'human' man—a Tamer!—running past him towards Borombo's Pod. He didn't dare move. But the sight of bright lights flashing from inside, and more screaming, chilled his blood.

_I've got to do something!_

He got up to his feet and ran after his friend—or so he tried. His legs were caught under the weight of the canopy. Meanwhile, a healthy stock of other voices was crying for help as well. Coming from all directions, every Pod seemed to flash briefly in light, the sounds dying in time with the turmoil. A man in long robes would appear carrying occupied glass jars in his arms.

_What's going on?! _

The nearest Tamer ran past Timothy without noticing him; he entered the Pod in front of the elevator, and shrieks ensued again. He came out, running in a self-dignified fashion with his bounty, just as the noise died.

Timothy's eyes widened. His mind flashed back on the conversation Jeremy—director Jeremy—had with Sir Humphrey. _There's been another Tamer case today._ Sir Humphrey's light grin suddenly evaporated at the statement. _Another Tamer case. _

He remembered the book. What was it about Tamers that would be so dangerous?

Tamers spanned the entire first chapter of the book, describing powers, duties to the City, and lineages. Dangerous? They helped fight monsters, even trapped them permanently in special jars called—what was the term? Ah yes, on the next chapter, devoted entirely to—Domboxes. Yes, he had scanned through this section earlier, but was more interested in the chapters about Tutors and their roles as the city's government and as a Detention Oasis' educator.

"Hello, _little_ Tutor," growled a shadow above him. To his dismay, this robed man had lifted the canopy trapping and ultimately hiding him.

He gulped. He was about to share the fate of the thousands of innocent monsters sleeping 'safely' in their Pods.

The Tamer threw him a toothy grin. The yellow blocks of enamel inside his mouth reeked of some foreign scent Timothy had never smelt before. Wielding an empty glass jar, the Tamer grabbed Timothy's arm and whispered, "You will be the _grand_ prize of my career—"

"Not if I can help it!"

Both the Tamer and his captive froze at the shadow of Humphrey Roth. "Unhand my student," he snarled in an eerie voice, "or you will repay a debt with you and your family's lives."

The Tamer shot him a dark ray of Energy, dropped Timothy on his knees, and dashed away.

"Go home," was all Humphrey said.

"Wait, sir! Let me come with you!" argued Timothy.

"No! Go to the Academy! Warn the instructors, and the Council of Most-Highs if they're there!"

"But sir—"

"I can't let you get hurt! I will protect you and this City with whatever it takes. Now after you've done what I've told you, stay in my Pod and lock up in the Mirrored Sheets. Go to sleep. Don't wait for me." And Humphrey instantly began pursuit of the dark Tamers.


	5. Judgement Day

**Timothy's Mentor**

_Cezille07_

Sorry for the wait. This and one (or two) final chapters to go. ;D_  
_

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Chapter 5. Judgment Day.

Timothy felt an indignant rebellion burning in his chest, but he realized the sprint to the Tutors' Academy took little time. He banged at the doors to the sleeping chambers, earning a few indecent protests from the older Tutors, and announced, "The City is under siege by dark Tamers!"

"But we already sent Humphrey and Jeremy to take care of it," Bartleby Bath, one of the Maximum Tutors teaching at the Academy, sleepily refuted.

A few others laughed. "What a funny boy you are, young Timothy," the Monsterology specialist teased. "Can we be _sure_ you are sent here in an urgent attempt by your mentor to fight back the Tamers?"

"How could you not _trust_ me?! I know what I am in your eyes, but if not me, trust Sir Humphrey! He's risking his life trying to save the monsters—"

At that instant, a loud rumble shook the entire Pod. The main doors landed on the floor with a muffled crash. "Tutors! Arise and surrender yourselves to the future of Bibbur-si!" yelled a male voice.

"See?! I _told_ you!"

"Everyone, assemble yourselves and the Guard Tutors at the elevators and the major Pods. And you, Timothy," said Bartleby, resting a firm hand on the boy's shoulders, "get yourself away from this mess. Do what your mentor has told you."

Timothy irritably pushed off the hand and darted in the direction of Humphrey's Pod. He paused at the front door. Lock up in the Mirrored Sheets—damn, hadn't he just learned the most important lesson in his young life this afternoon? Honesty, bravery, duty. He will be a great Tutor someday....

That darned day might as well be today.

He yanked at the edges of the open-air cellar underneath the Pod, and the Mirrored Sheets fell silkily into his hands. He draped this over his head and proceeded to looking for Humphrey.

He dodged Energy Dom rays on the way and stepped on a bloody Snyakutz arm past the Tutors' main Pod. _They're still assembling themselves! _he observed irritably. _They're too dang slow—_

A tall, blond Tamer ran past him without noticing he was there.

_It works; I _am_ invisible— _

A second later, Humphrey whizzed past him as well.

"Sir!"

Humphrey ducked in time to avoid the blond Tamer's Dom, but Timothy was caught unaware. He fell back, his invisibility garment flying off. Humphrey stood in front of him and returned the Tamer an attack.

"You were better off fighting side by side with us. And yet your greed for trophies reduce you and your allies to insurgents with nothing to gain," Humphrey said in his firmest, but softest, voice yet. He stared down his barely-wounded enemy, who was observing him with a complacent grin.

"Oh, Sir Humphrey, I enjoyed those times, but those times are long gone," replied the Tamer. "Our meetings are scarce in the Armory, and our trading has fallen to zero. We've got nothing tonight, therefore nothing to lose...and yet an entire City of monsters waiting to be Canned! You've suppressed us long enough, Humphrey! You and your proud Tutor friends are trying to stop something so natural to us, but you can't stop a waterfall."

"Travis Thaur, in the first place, Tamers are supposed to be the last stand of the City. If you do this, you'll no longer be a hero."

Travis cackled, "That's what we learned in school. But you know students never really listen. Right, boy?" and he threw Timothy a wink. "They have their own lives ahead of them. See where I am? Enjoying myself with my best friends, doing what I was born to do: Can monsters!"

"Canning for the sake of fun?! That's ridiculous! Good monsters have no need to feel trapped and degraded—" A glance too at Timothy. "They are free beings, Travis—"

"_I'm_ a free being. So, are you gonna stop me, Humphrey? Lock me up in Tamer jail or something?" Travis conjured a ball of glowing blue light in his right hand and raised it, aimed at Humphrey's face. "Are _you_ a free being? Bound by all your duties the way you are?" he quipped. "So I can certainly Can you—"

"Don't hurt him!" yelled Timothy. A white ray of light escaped his chest and stunned the Tamer off his feet—off the walkway. Yet Travis, screaming in his fall, sent the Energy Ball hurling at the pair. Timothy grunted as his face hit the ground; Humphrey had pushed him out of the way, crying, "Hurry and run, Timothy," an instruction the young Tutor quickly heeded.

He found the Mirrored Sheet he brought with him, lying a few feet away. Pulling it over his head once more, he was about to turn back to convince his mentor to hide with him, but the gathering of rest of the Tamer army around them, all bearing ineffably livid airs and swirling masses of Dom Energy at their hands, froze him to his spot.

"S-sir Humphrey, we're trapped," he whispered, his lips barely moving and his breath making little puffs of fog as it escaped him, but creating no sound. He was able to count the tall Tamers with blond heads like Travis—Tamers make long dynasties of powerful monsters, he recalled—and with a gulp he realized this family was in a good mood to finish them off for Travis' fall. "Sir Humphrey," he hissed at his mentor.

Although, what met his eyes as he made the slightest glance...was no longer a proud Tutor—but a cold, bloody corpse.

His insides writhed with the need to scream. Run away like he always did, run to whoever was waiting by the elevator and make friends. Friends with the stupidest creatures alive. Just friends, any friends to block out life's lesson from his mind.

And yet tonight, with the sounds of chaos unfolding on around him, and the rest of the city in turmoil, burning, emptied, the life of each Pod leaking out through the children's cries—there was nothing left, not even energy to breathe in the stinging air of recognition.

A blond man, muscular like Travis, came forward from the mass of Tamers and held up an empty Dombox. "Travija Thaur brought us together as the most glorious monsters in Poddum-si, powerful in every way. What say you we take this Tutor's arrogant teachings and feed it to the dogs of the city below?"

Cheers from his fellow Tamers. "Or we could sell his body to the Anguanes for money. Hail Travija!"

"_Hurry and run...."_

"_I can't let you get hurt! I will protect you and this City with whatever it takes...."_

Timothy's chest constricted. His knees gave out, and he lay on the walkway hoping the wind would take Mirrored Sheets off him and expose his shame.

"_Timothy, this is the only lesson I'll be able to teach you...."_

"_You are a special student...." _

A special student? This was precisely why he wanted to run away! He was an orphan boy, an orphan heart sheltered by cold vines that touched only the outermost shells of his being. Sir Humphrey could never teach him anything beyond the book until he realized Timothy was only still a boy.

"_Then forgive me...."_

"_Because you are a Tutor...."_

"I'm a Tutor, dammit!" He fought back the last choking sobs, stood tall and proud for the first time in his life, to behold the last trial he would have to endure. He freed himself of the Mirrored Sheets, uttering, "I am a shameful Tutor, and may you bear witness to my shame so that this day will end all misery!"

"Ah, you're a brave one to fight back," the new 'leader' snorted at him.

"It's you! You killed my dad!" cried a young Tamer boy resembling Travis, whose sore eyes flashed with rage as he showered blasts of red Dom at Timothy. At these words, more Tamers followed suit and posed to attack him.

Piped the smallest voice from among them, a blue-headed boy with a face contorted with internal mutiny, "Wait, everyone, we don't have to fight—" though he was easily shoved aside.

But the deluge of Dom suddenly lost its scare.

_Hands over your head! Look up to the sky! Begin the chant! _

"I am a shameful Tutor, so destroy me if you must! But I will stand for this City, and I will die smiling if it be under your hands, because I go for the lives of many!"

_Now, say it again, and say it right! _

"I am a shameful Tutor, but I am not afraid! You fight for power with anger, but I stand ground for life with reason. I was taught all wisdom with a smile, but you will not know love as long as you are blinded by greed for what will gratify only fleeting, worldly desires!"

Timothy then became motionless, his entire body aching beyond ache, exhausted beyond fatigue, burned beyond injury.

Thus the reason they abruptly ceased fire will not be known to him. The sight that frightened the Tamers advanced with staggering numbers, every Tutor from near and far, heads shaking with contempt and disapproval, hearts ready to disperse the force that shook the pillars of their authority.

Timothy will not know any further than his feeble speech. He collapsed right after the Tutors arrived, but he didn't see them. He was still seeing Humphrey's blood on the walkways.


	6. Still Awake

**Timothy's Mentor**

_Cezille07_

* * *

Chapter 6. Still Awake.

Bibbur-si awoke to a dreary morning. The corpses were barely moved since the evening's battle, and blood made walkways soft and creaky. As the inhabitants traipsed past the very Snyakutz arm Timothy had stepped on, their eyes darted away, towards their icon of hope, of authority, of sanity in the world....

And in the Tutor's Pod was being held the century's graduation festivities.

Timothy had no interest in attending the Commencements. They say they've learned something, the senior batch. But they simply weren't there last night. They didn't fight. They didn't shed blood. None of their colleagues and mentors were lost to time and anger, to hope and eternity...to love.

He sat alone in front of a white-painted coffin. The only other visitor, the Tutor who said the rites and other final prayers for the deceased, left to attend the last happy place there was in the City.

"C'mon, Timmy, let's go down to Bibbur-ska," prodded Borombo. Since when was the Bombo standing there, pulling his arm away from the plastic chair on which he sat? "Pleeeeease? Come with me just this once. The Tutors won't know you're gone. Humphrey won't be there to make you kneel in the crowd and yell the 'I am a shameful Tutor' lines!"

_Humphrey won't be there...at all._

Timothy looked at his 'best' friend. "Wha—huh? Were you talking to me?"

"Argh, just follow me!" Borombo grabbed his wounded hand and pulled him over to the elevator.

As the rickety platform took a slow, unstable plunge down, the breathtaking view zipped through Timothy's sightless eyes. They were still seeing the unmoving body before him at a warm evening in the walkway warzone.

He subdued the next falling teardrop.

"Timmy, look! Your Pod is over there, the lonely one to the far west!"

Timothy forced his gaze to the object the Bombo pointed at, and found Humphrey's soulless home.

_Humphrey won't be there...anymore._

And this tear, he could no longer suppress. He grabbed the nearest rope to him and pulled it hard that the elevator jerked out of its regular motion. Borombo was screaming something in his ears; he didn't understand it. _Humphrey's gone!_ _Humphrey's gone!_ And he couldn't—didn't want to—believe it.

"Timmy! TIMMY! Get a hold of yourself! We're going to fall! HEY!"

Timothy gasped, "I don't want to! I want to die! I should have died last night! I wish I just died!"

"Hang on there, buddy!" remarked Borombo, "Just please stop shaking the elevator! This thing ain't sturdy enough!"

"We talked about falling off the walkway, remember? I _killed_ someone that way—"

"That's enough nonsense! Shut up and I'll bring us down safely!"

"Borombo, I really _am_ a shameful Tutor—"

Borombo punched Timothy in the face, finally earning some silence, and he continued working the ropes to carry them to the ground. "Timmy, you're still here, and that means something. Humphrey saved you, didn't he? He needed you to live for a reason. I don't care what that is, but I wish you'd stop beating yourself up for what happened."

Timothy didn't reply, showed no acknowledge of the statement in the least, fixated on the faraway clouds throwing away life and wishing he were among them. Somewhere there, in his fictional heaven, Tutors grinned down on the suffering left on the bottom of the gods' boredom. As the elevator reached the ground, he took a random direction and walked that way without a word to his puzzled friend.

He couldn't remember what it was about that day at the clinic that he suddenly forgot all the lashes, all the draughts of lavender he downed for Humphrey's amusement. He forgot why all his childhood felt like hell and yesterday like the pinnacle of existence. Why the greatest truth of all time was revealed to him in a fatherly smile. Why blood screamed when it left the harboring veins of a body. Blood. He paused at a hat store window and studied his reflection—he bore a large stain of it on his forehead, only partly masked by dry and brittle bandages that rubbed against the wound. How'd he get that wound? He looked at his arms. Scarred and throbbing—and wrapped in the same, painful material. What kind of scars would they leave? Would they never heal?

"Timothy," a voice called from behind. "You're supposed to be at the clinic. The nurse should have known this is where you'd run off to."

Timothy glanced at the reflection, but otherwise didn't move. He didn't know Jeremy would be that concerned for him—rather, he couldn't care less.

"I didn't come all the way down here to drag a stubborn child back to his room." Jeremy hesitated, noting the boy's silence. "I would, of course, enjoy scolding the likes of you, but neither of us are in any position for such an affair."

Timothy looked at his feet, tracing circles on the dust before he said, "I don't...understand what happened last night, Director."

Jeremy approached, though only nearly reached to put an arm on Timothy's shoulder. He forced to look at the boy's eyes through his reflection, but tore away at the sight. "Those," he half-pointed to the wounds, "would take very long to heal, if at all they will heal. The Thaur clan, whose father you killed, has always been a particular headache for the Council. I daresay that Travis has crossed the line far too many times, but never this far. Had we known he was gathering Tamer forces to overthrow our government? Perhaps so. They had been moving underground for some time, but we didn't even plan any counter-attack. The same way the Most-Highs ignored you when you warned them. I guess Tutors are, by nature, ignorant until the enemy is spitting right into their faces.

"The Maximum Tutors have agreed this morning to exile all Tamers to Detention Oases in Bibbur-ska. Even that Tamer boy who tried to help you, Ezeria Zick. A pity we have to let even his family go; the Zick's are quite the best Tamer students we've ever trained. But no exceptions can be made. By now they'll have been assigned respective homes, with respective Tutors and Keepers to look after their re-education. Unlike ordinary, exiled monsters, though, they will never return to Poddum-si. They will be prisoners in a human world, forbidden to mingle with them, forbidden to use their powers. The children will grow up wondering what they are, wondering about their strange abilities. Maybe they'll use their powers, get punished. Get over it. Grow old, a rotten human, without fully realizing their powers."

"What a fate..." breathed Timothy, "...sad, like mine."

"You know, Timothy," Jeremy cleared his throat, "I wasn't able to believe my eyes when I realized it was you, standing between the last of the burning homes with your arms outstretched; you were chanting the punishment! Except that the lines, they weren't the lines at all. The Tamer's Attack wasn't for you to fight, but there you were, our last stand. I must commend you for that bravery. So Humphrey had _indeed_ taught you something—" he coughed. "I'm sorry."

"No one would be sorry to know I'm never coming back to the Academy," Timothy said flatly. He looked at the director whose eyes were, for the first time, bursting with questions. And he could predict some of them already: _Y-y-you're not going to be a Tutor? W-what about everything you've trained for? Everything you've learned? What you said last night moved the Most-Highs! They moved _me_. I had never seen so much dedication to this profession, Timothy—_

But no, Jeremy wouldn't half-care whether or not Timothy was dedicated. Only Humphrey ever saw anything within this seven-foot frame with only a sore heart inside. He stepped sideward, away from Jeremy, and continued his aimless wandering through this wasteland soon to be inhabited by those..._murderers_.

"Wait, Timothy...take this." Jeremy reached into the folds of his robe for something, and gave it to Timothy. "The Tamers' Handbook. Humphrey's copy, which, I believe, you now own."

The Handbook was bloodied, but intact. Timothy had forgotten he lost it, under that canopy, under the threat of the foul-smelling Tamer who almost killed him for collection's sake. He wasn't hurt yet, then. Many broken appendages must have plodded over this volume, many fleeting lives departed from the souls who possessed them. How Jeremy found it was another mystery, but Timothy was finished thinking. He knew what this meant.

"I said I'm not going back, sir." He turned. "Farewell."

"But, won't you even see the Commencements, to which Humphrey invited you personally?"

"For what? To make me believe I could still seriously become a Tutor? I let my own mentor die, because I couldn't follow a stupid instruction! I didn't even _want_ to be a Tutor, remember...? Sir Humphrey had just convinced me that I could be great...."

"_Because_ you _are_ great!" blurted Jeremy. The two Tutors stared at each other, their quick breaths puffing out in the cold morning air. Jeremy straightened himself and shook his head. "Hmph. Fine. I imagined you would want to comply with the old fool's final request in the least, but I was wrong. Running away again, are you? Hmph! We won't be seeing you anymore, then."

The gap between Timothy and the book widened with Jeremy's hastened, embarrassed steps. His eyes followed the hardbound cover as long as they could, then even the gold, embossed text became too blurry to read from the distance.

He gulped, the last of his pride peeling away with the noise and the bustle of the cityscape surrounding him. But things went on, without Humphrey. They existed without knowing that a soul was now missing from the living world.

He was letting everything slip so easily, after everything. Jeremy was right, but he was too hurt to keep up, to go on learning, to not seek asylum. "I'll see you then," Humphrey had told him. Sir Humphrey believed more than anyone that he could make it. This reluctant Tutor now staring after his only heirloom? NO...the last piece of Humphrey he could keep...? The last lesson he had to learn?

That he was a great Tutor for _real_?

"Sir Jeremy!" He panted when he came three feet ahead of Jeremy, blocking his path to the elevator. The director's eyes showed contempt at the effort, but didn't speak.

"Sir Jeremy...I am a shameful, shameful Tutor, but I have decided," Timothy grinned, "to remain a Tutor, to become as great as Sir Humphrey wanted me to be, and better."

* * *

A/N: Wait for it...I'll add an epilogue. ;D


	7. Stellar

**Timothy's Mentor**

_Cezille07_

* * *

Epilogue. Stellar.

Timothy brought his hand to his face to wipe the dripping sweat off his forehead, and felt guilty that everyone else was dressed five robes thicker while he wore only his regular student robe. The Auditorium was packed with graduates and the handful of stressed technicians watching the overworked electric fan units positioned erratically in the audience area.

Bartleby Bath climbed up the stage and took the microphone. "Thank you, Sir Jeremy, for fetching our little guest of honor. And now we shall proceed with the ceremony." Bartleby grinned toward Timothy, and the audience broke into applause.

_You don't mean...you were all waiting for me, do you?_

He smiled uneasily at the frowning elders one row in front of him, all snorting grumpily at the long delay he had caused. The ceremony ought have ended over an hour ago, the medals distributed, and their grown-up lives began. Jeremy showed him his aisle seat at the second row, just behind his seat and another of the Maximum Tutors Cranaby Croth's.

"May I repeat the opening remarks as made by Cranaby Croth: Welcome, one and all to this graduation! Our proud students have struggled for the past hundred years to complete their studies, and here at last they end a segment of their young lives to serve our City as Tutors," Bartleby announced, and the audience, composed of heavily sweating students, clapped again. "We have finished handing out your hard-earned diplomas and the minor trophies. Now, let us have Deputy Deth, our valedictorian for three consecutive centuries, for each of the three degrees he has pursued: Government and Politics, Advanced Herbal Engineering, and Ancient Anguanism for Monsters, deliver his final speech before his first term in the Council of Most-High Tutors," finished Bartleby, earning the tall, bony student climbing up the stage intrigued oohs from the audience.

A fan to Timothy's right was giving off the odor of burning oil, but it was ignored until the end of Deputy's hour-long drabble about his egoistic toils for the honors he received today. By that time, he could see Jeremy drooling, his eyes half-closed, his body slumped into the tiny metal scrap they called a chair. Cranaby Croth jabbed at his side with a wooden staff, and was about to give him an actual punch when the smoking fan finally exploded. Jeremy leapt at the sound, his eyes frantic; Timothy barely suppressed his giggling after Cranaby pulled him back to his seat, muttering rapidly under his breath:

"How on earth are we going to hire you as Humphrey's replacement? His post is now open and you're the next eligible Tutor for that, after Deputy Deth!"

Jeremy's eyes widened. "M-me? I'm only a Monster Societies teacher!"

"And Director of this Academy. Your experience would be enough to carry over to your new job as Maximum Tutor. The quartet will once more be complete after Deputy's inauguration..."

Cranaby stared up again at the stage, where Deputy Deth was completing his short list of acknowledgements. Bartleby Bath winked at the two of them as he walked up the stage to grab the microphone.

"...And thank you to those classmates of mine, noisy and youthful as they remain; there will be a future for all of you, I hope truly—"

"Thank you, Deputy Deth! What a wonderful speech, but _sadly_ we have little time left!" Bartleby cut the valedictorian. Only part of the audience clapped, that is, the portion that was still awake at the moment. Crossly, Deputy left the lectern to return to his seat.

"How difficult it is to stand here in front, knowing what to do and yet not having the strength or the reason to act." Bartleby allowed his voice to echo repeatedly within the empty space overhead the crowd, waiting, but the audience only looked back with cold disinterest. He grinned. "Timothy Moth, undergraduate, please join me onstage."

Timothy froze. "S-sir?"

"Yes, you."

Deputy Deth scoffed at the Timothy as he passed. The rest of the audience, all with scrutinizing eyes, followed his shaky ascent to the stage.

"The final award, my fellow Tutors, is indeed the most unique and prestigious honor the Council may offer. Another three hundred years has elapsed, and it is that time of the millennium to name a new Stellar Tutor, a title of dedication, wisdom, and true leadership. Qualities which have not been seen as ripe and genuine as this lad exudes," stated Bartleby. He laid a hand on Timothy's shoulder, feeling the boy's anxious gaze at him. "What our late Maximum Tutor Humphrey Roth saw in this boy was a mystery to all of us, but we understand that he was right to suggest that this frail-looking Tutor ought to be considered for this award. Today we rise from the Tamers' siege thanks to him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Timothy Moth! This millenium's new Stellar Tutor!" he announced, raising Timothy's long, thin arm in the air as the crowd broke into wild applause.

"_What?"_ Below them, Deputy's frenzied anticipation came to a terse halt. "Why in Poddum-si did you think I even bothered to complete three separate degrees? To serve the city? I waited three hundred years for that title! I most deserve it, not this..._mangy_ delinquent!" He grabbed Carnaby Croth's staff, broke it against his knee, and stormed off, vanishing among the ecstatic throng of Tutors.

Timothy shrank into himself as the new starry symbol was burned into his chest, renewing the sense of heat that engulfed the entire Auditorium. _I'm not even a graduate_, he thought, but as likely as Humphrey will never return, this old Tutor holding his up arm proudly will never listen to his timid protest. Fiery, like Deputy's sudden, quiet rage below the podium, was the sting in his large, yellow eyes now glazed with tears, as they looked toward the infinite sky where his father and mentor sat waiting, proud like Bartleby—much prouder, for sure.

Because for the first time in his life, Timothy didn't feel so alone, so purposeless. For the first time, he would stop reasoning that he was only a boy. Now he was a Tutor. And his last five years of study _will_ mean something. He was ready, ready for anything the earth in all its complex entirety can throw. Because inside him were the words of Humphrey Roth, the greatest Tutor to live. And ahead of him was a life of odd wonder and blossoming friendship as only time can predict.

He smiled at the audience, aware that the Stellar Tutor symbol was visible on his bare chest. He knew Humphrey wasn't in this mad swarm of Tutors, but all the same, he waved at them and whispered his very brief thanks.

****THE END****

* * *

A/N: There we have it: the four Most-High Tutors as canon Monster Allergy depicts, Timothy soon to be deployed into the Zick's Detention Oasis, him as a Stellar Tutor (of course), and Deputy Deth...a budding antagonist. Mwahahaha! What, was that too much of a spoiler? ;)

So thanks for sticking through with this one! (Though only Kady has ever reviewed to this point...) But thanks anyway to anyone else who might be reading this! Much appreciation and cyber-hugs to you! ;D


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